


Cartography

by manic_intent



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble collection from tumblr prompts, Fix-It, Full spoilers for cacw, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This collects three Steve/Tony drabbles off the following tumblr prompts:</p><p>1. Fix It - Cartography<br/>2. Saharas have their centuries - A Time for Timelessness<br/>3. Tony meets pre-serum Steve - Automata</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cartography

**Author's Note:**

> Was prepping for a 7 hour flight to Singapore and then an even longer one to Europe, so I asked Tumblr for some prompts. Thanks everyone who submitted!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-CACW, Fix-it, for cjk1701

Despite the opinion of the free press, Tony was terribly sentimental even at the best of times. 

And besides, it wasn’t as though Steve’s old Brooklyn apartment had actually cost that much in the scheme of things. Tony arranged to have the damage fixed and the apartment cleaned up, but other than that, everything was left as it was. It was probably the cheapest piece of real estate in Tony’s folio, and some days, when he went there to sit and think, he was _fairly sure_ that it had a rodent problem. But what the hell. Live and let live. 

Tony had the fridge left empty, the cabinets cleaned out. There hadn’t been that much in either even at the beginning, only a depressing amount of cornflakes: it seemed that Steve probably ate at the Triskelion’s canteen or at the Avengers base. To be fair, the apartment hadn’t really been lived in once the base had been made liveable. Even before the damage done, Steve had always felt embarrassed about bringing Tony there, as though Tony hadn’t lived in worse, what with college dorms and then that delightful little sojourn in Afghanistan. 

Now, the apartment was pretty much just a piece of Steve that Tony could still have. An alcohol-free zone. Somewhere to go off-grid.

He had been taking a nap on the lumpy couch, and was woken up by a scraping sound from the kitchen. Grumbling, Tony rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head, and the sound grew closer. “Seriously?” Tony groused. “There’s a limit to my tolerance, guys. Now shut up or I’m going to build a mousetrap from Steve’s shitty radio.” 

Above his head, Steve laughed. “It’s not a shitty radio. It’s an antique.” 

Tony sat up so fast that he nearly tipped himself off the couch and onto the dinged up coffee table. Steve grinned at him, arms folded on the back of the couch, a white tee stretched over his shoulders. “Steve?” Tony asked blankly. He prodded Steve in one arm. Solid. 

“Heard you bought over the old place.” 

“You were only renting it before,” Tony said, instinctively defensive, and rubbed his eyes. “What the hell. What are you _doing_ here?” 

“Did you get the phone?”

“Steve, you have to get out of the _country_.” 

“It would’ve come through the post with a letter-”

“All right, this is totally you and not some post-whisky hallucination.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are somehow having a conversation that’s running on completely separate wavelengths. Yet again.”

Steve frowned. “You’ve been drinking again? We’ve been over this. It’s bad for your liver. At your age-” 

“Oh my _God_ , are we having an argument about my drinking problem when _someone_ , meaning _you,_ just broke so many international laws that we’re going to need a fucking _spreadsheet_ to keep track of them all-” 

“So you do still have a drinking problem!” 

“Okay, so my therapist was right. Rampant communication breakdown. Only it escalated into some sort of complete global shitshow, because that’s how my life rolls nowadays-” 

“You’re seeing a _therapist?”_

 _“_ I’m a trust fund brat with daddy problems, textbook narcissism and an excessively overdeveloped IQ, of course I’ve been seeing a therapist since I was twelve-” 

“You never told me,” Steve looked horrified. “Tony.” 

Tony took in a deep breath. Things with Steve Rogers always seemed to escalate wildly out of control. On _this_ point, he could, in some ways, empathise with a certain brainwashed Hydra assassin. “Okay. Okay. Can you sit down? My neck’s getting a bit strained.” 

Steve seemed about to say something else, but he swallowed it in a sigh and rounded the couch, sitting down a hand’s breadth away, their knees almost touching. “You really should take better care of yourself.”

“Says the man who nearly gave me a series of heart attacks _and_ cracked three of my ribs.”

Steve flushed darkly, staring down at his hands. “Sorry.”

“Oh, you’re _sorry_ , are you?” Tony grit out. 

“Are _you_?”

Tony glared at Steve, who lifted his chin to stare evenly back at him, and after a long moment, it was Tony who looked away, slouching back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “I hate this couch.”

“I know.” 

“Your apartment has a rat problem.” 

“I know that too.” Steve inched closer, tentatively, until their thighs were flush, and he worked an arm gently around Tony’s waist. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

 _Should’ve thought of that before becoming one of the World’s Most Wanted_ , Tony wanted to say, but he bit the words down, closing his eyes. Lips pressed briefly against his jaw. “I still want to punch you in your perfect face.” 

“You tried,” Steve said, wry humour in his voice, and kissed lower, against Tony’s neck. They had never truly fit together, Tony knew that now, with a sense of leaden despair, not even like this, with Steve and his anxious gentleness, Tony and his brittle urgency. It was Time that stood between them, Steve and his ‘30s ways, Tony and the turn of the century. It was Steve and his fucking _American_  way. 

“Few years ago if you’d pulled out the reactor like that you would’ve killed me,” Tony said flatly, because even with the suit, he couldn’t hurt Captain America with sticks and stones, not really, but words, now. Words could make Steve take in a strangled breath and shudder. 

“I know,” Steve whispered. “You should have called me. When I sent you the phone.”

“You said it was for emergencies only.” 

“That’s not what the note said.” 

Tony would beg to differ. He’d read and reread the fucking thing, at least once a day. “You were expecting me to call you to bitch you out?” 

“I was ready to explain,” Steve admitted quietly. “You still mean a lot to me.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Tony growled, incredulous.

“It’s true. I still stand by what I did. But some things,” Steve hesitated. “Some things I would’ve done differently.”

“Like what?” Tony demanded bitterly. “The bit where you decided that the UN didn’t matter? Oh! Or the part where you didn’t even consider, maybe, legal process?” 

“I’ve been through wars, Tony-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“-and what the World War, Afghanistan, Iraq and SHIELD taught me is that when it comes down to where it counts,” Steve ignored him, “Sometimes you have to do what’s right. Sometimes rules have to be broken.” 

“That’s such a depressingly _American_ sentiment that I don’t even know where to start. And I would’ve thought that having seen so much war would’ve given you some kinda perspective. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I’ve thought back on everything that’s happened. Wondering where I went wrong, where I could’ve done something different. All your lofty fucking ideas, it just boiled down to one thing. You wanted your friend to get off scot-free. And you didn’t care about what or who you burned to get there.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Bucky was innocent. He wasn’t himself when he did what he did as the Winter Soldier. I’m sorry, Tony, but that’s the truth. I knew your father too. I’ve met your mother-”

“Going to have to stop you there, or I _am_ going to punch you.” 

There was a weight on his shoulder. Steve’s cheek. “Can we just,” Steve began, then he sighed. “I didn’t come here for a fight.”

“Then what?”

“I missed you. I wanted to see if you were all right. I heard that you retired. As the Iron Man.” 

“Yes, well,” Tony tried to sound icy, but only managed weariness. “The suit’s broken.” 

“You can fix anything.”

“Clearly that’s no longer the case.” Tony turned, to brush his mouth against Steve’s hair, all hot water and soap. “Thor came by.”

“I know.”

“I think I managed to lower his already low opinion of ‘midgardians’.” 

“He spoke to me.” 

“Really? How did he find you guys?” Tony frowned, opening his eyes, and found himself looking right at Steve, both their cheeks now pressed against the couch, nearly nose-to-nose. “He didn’t tell me about it. What did he say?”

“Something about treasuring the fragile things in life. It was surprisingly philosophical.”

“Did he give you the impression that he felt that he was talking to children?”

“The way he started speaking very slowly did, yes.” Steve’s mouth quirked briefly, then flattened out into an uneven line. “I wish that I could love you the way you want me to.” 

Something seemed to squeeze tight in Tony’s chest, filtering his next breath out in a tiny wounded gasp. “I’m used to not getting what I want.”

“I do understand why you did what you did.” 

“You know what?” Tony curled his lip. “At the end? If your bestie had shown some sort of remorse… some kinda shock, or even, I don’t know, apologised sincerely, I would’ve stood down. Probably would’ve let the two of you walk away, even. I told Sam that I wanted to help. That’s why I followed you to that base. But to watch that video and then look at Bucky and-”

“It wasn’t him. He doesn’t even remember doing it.” 

“I don’t know, Steve. If you’d killed two civilians in cold blood and didn’t remember, but you were shown video evidence of it later in front of their son, would you have been like ‘welp, that wasn’t me’?” 

“You go on about legal process but you wanted to _kill_ him, Tony, I could see it!” 

“And here we go again,” Tony continued, resigned. “I talk, you talk, and neither of us are actually listening to each other. On hindsight, things probably could’ve been worse.”

“I’m getting help for Bucky.” Steve said quietly. “In Wakanda.” 

“Good call.” Tony blinked. There wasn’t the least measure of wariness in Steve’s tone. “No wonder you guys dropped off-grid so quickly.” 

“T’Challa’s people are studying the mental programming. Maybe they can undo it. Their medical facilities are far more advanced than the rest of the world.” 

“Are you about to ask me for a favour? Because Senator Ross isn’t actually in my pocket, even though it’s an election year. I’m backing a few horses. Trying to get some clean energy bills passed.” 

“No,” Steve let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just. I’m just trying to show you. I still trust you. You’re still important to me.” 

“In a way it’s ironic,” Tony admitted, after a long pause. “If it hadn’t been you on the other side, I probably wouldn’t have cared so much where the cards fell.”

“I’ve never seen you as an enemy.” Steve kissed Tony’s cheek, then lower, as Tony finally conceded, pressing their mouths together, as tentative as the first time. Maybe they’d taken a step back, mapped their way back to the very beginning. Maybe this wasn’t going to be worth it. But Tony let Steve push him down on the couch, still kissing, and now, as before, they fit imperfectly, and it was all that he wanted.


	2. A Time for Timelessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Saharas have their centuries" for kisachanlove, a 'Steve is Found Much Earlier' AU

Tony’s hearing came back only after he had stumbled over scree and dust for what felt like _hours_. Rubbing his temple, he leant in the shade of a shattered building, gulping for air. His Savile Row suit had seen its last days, he’d left the Balenciaga tie somewhere in the dirt, and his shirt was sticking to his skin. Thank God he’d thought to wear comfortable, handmade Italian shoes to this godforsaken asshole if the world, but calf leather wasn’t made for this kind of hard use.

“How much longer?” Tony complained.

His rescuer glanced back at him, then ambled into the shade, frowning. Even when dusty and travel-worn, Captain America looked a right treat, blond and blue-eyed and broad-shouldered in the kevlar alloy uniform that Tony had designed, with the white star and the three stripes over the titanium-weave chest. The famous vibranium shield that Howard Stark had forged was latched magnetically to Rogers’ back, though the paintwork was nicked all to hell from taking the brunt of the shrapnel from the land mine that had knocked out their convoy.

“We have to keep moving, Mister Stark,” Rogers said brusquely.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tony was still trying to catch his breath. “Also, I didn’t put this much effort into my alcohol problem for it to be undone by us having to hike around the fucking _Sahara_.”

“This is Afghanistan,” Rogers noted, in the same brisk tone.

“God, this is sad,” Tony huffed, though he was starting to feel less like he was about to do something undignified, like throw up over Rogers’ knee-high, fuck-me boots. “The locals just tried to kill me, I have to _walk_ , and I’m stuck with Uncle Sam’s poster boy, who, perhaps fittingly, doesn’t have a goddamned sense of _humour_.”

“You talk a lot more than your father used to,” Rogers added neutrally.

“Jesus, don’t bring up the old man. You’re making me even _more_  depressed.”

“I know he spent five years looking for me,” Rogers ignored Tony, “And even though SHIELD only managed to find me a month back, I’m still grateful. So. I’ll get you safely out of here. But you’re going to have to work with me.”

Childhood idols, Tony reflected sadly, always disappointed you when you met them. But at least most said idols didn’t tend to compound the problem by dragging you across the length and breadth of this desolate armpit of a country. “This rescue could’ve worked so much better if you hadn’t broken my phone.”

“I was hauling you out of a burning jeep at the time.”  

“How come _you_  don’t have a phone?” Tony complained. “This is ridiculous. Where are we even going? It’ll take the Army _years_  to find us without some sort of signal.”

“There’s an outpost two days or so from here. That’s where you were going to get flown out to Bagram. We’re taking the long way around. Hostiles will be watching the usual routes.”

“Two _days_? We don’t have supplies. We don’t have _internet reception_.”

“Does it matter? Your phone’s broken anyway.” Rogers had the gall to smile faintly.

“I’m going to die,” Tony said mournfully. “And the only silver lining in this fiasco is that you’re hot. When I die, at least I’ll die looking at a nice ass.”

Was Rogers turning faintly red, or was it the heat? “Keep moving, Mister Stark.”


	3. Automata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A WWII AU for johanirae

“Hey,” Steve said softly behind Tony, and as always, Tony made a show of being surprised. It’s never convincing. Steve smiled wryly, skinny hands stuffed into big pockets that hang off painfully narrow hips. Even when specially tailored, the army uniform made Steve look like a badly built mannequin. “You’re up late.” 

“ _Someone_ banged up my baby.” Tony rapped his knuckles against the open chassis of the Captain America armour. Winched open on both ends, slung in heavy chains within its steel cradle, the blue and red armour sat like a peeled fruit, wiring and cables and circuitry everywhere. Tony’s arms were greasy to the elbows.

“It’s not that bad.” Steve was still running off adrenaline, his eyes a little dilated, flushed from whatever hard liquor the forward base had scrounged up to celebrate. Even in his workshop, Tony could still hear the drunken party, howling. “You didn’t stay long,” Steve added, a little accusingly. “It’s _your_ party.”

“Wasn’t the one driving the suit.” 

“You _built_  the suit.” Steve raised his hands up. Big palms made his wrists look matchstick-fragile. “Without it, I would never have saved Bucky and the others.” 

“Wasn’t the one driving,” Tony repeated gruffly, and pointedly turned back to the circuitry. “Go back and drink. You saved the day, et cetera. Who knows, you might even get laid. That’d be something.” 

Tony didn’t need to look over his shoulders to know that Steve was turning as red as a tomato. “Tony!”

“Saw you getting sweet on Agent Carter. Go ahead, give it a shot. She’s one gorgeous doll.” 

Steve sighed, and circled around until he was in Tony’s peripheral vision, his skinny arms crossed over his chest. “Tony,” Steve said finally, his tone oddly hesitant. “Did you ever… wish that _you_ were the one driving the Captain America suit?” 

Tony clenched his jaw. “Long time ago. Not anymore. Next question.”

“Why not anymore?”

“You’ve obviously got a knack for it, all right?”

“It’s _your_ suit and-”

“And,” Tony cut in sharply, whirling around, “I’m not _allowed_ , are you happy now? You _know_ that, Rogers. You think I like it? Being behind the lines while the rest of you go out there, get shot up and die? You think I like it that everything I make for Uncle Sam is a weapon? D’you think I like it that _they think that you’re expendable, but I’m not?”_

Steve took a step back, startled, and Tony forced himself to turn back to the suit, swallowing the rest of his words. The seating fixtures seemed claustrophobically tiny within the armour, like an Iron Maiden. Steve had never complained, and Tony tested the filter system every day himself, but- 

“They’re right, you know,” Steve noted quietly. “You’re not expendable. The rest of us are.” 

“Don’t you _fucking_ start-” 

“It’s thanks to you and your father that we’re pushing back the Nazis. Pinning down Hydra.” Steve ignored him. “Do you know why I kept trying to sign up, even though the usual army kept rejecting me?”

“Honour and the American Way?” Tony said sarcastically.

“To protect the people I love,” Steve corrected gently, and shuffled over before Tony could flinch back, brushing a kiss shyly on Tony’s cheek. “My family. Bucky. My friends. And you. So thanks, Tony. And don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Tony stared at Steve dumbly, with slow realisation, even as Steve met his gaze evenly, red-faced as he was. Finally, Tony allowed himself a quick grin, and wiped his hands off on a rag. “All right, fine. Let’s go liven up our party.” 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent  
> \--  
> About continuations: I do sometimes expand on short drabbles, but I have a few deadlines right now to meet so, maybe not now, we'll see.  
> About prompts: I don't normally take prompts, given the day job + having to set time aside to write original work, but sometimes when there's a long weekend or I'm about to go on a flight I do. If you're interested it's usually a matter of following me on twitter or tumblr and (sadly) being around during Australian hours :) Lots of other authors do take prompts though, and there's always the kmemes.  
> \--  
> Refs:  
> Ezra Klein: The Un-American Captain America: http://www.vox.com/2016/5/18/11692644/unamerican-captain-america-civil-war
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
